Saturday, August 13, 2011


I ran into my ex-wife the other day outside a store. We stared at each other a moment almost as if we were sizing each other up. She struck me as a little nervous.



“How ya been?”

“Good. You?”

“It’s so hot this summer.”

“Yeah, It’s hot.”

“Really hot.”

“Looks like no relief in sight. It’s hot.”

“Well, see ya.”


It has been something like a year since the divorce. First time we had spoken with one another in quite some time.

I still ponder with amazement, slight though it may be, at how stilted the conversation was.

We are two people that spent practically every waking, or sleeping moment with one another for over 12 years. We shared bodily fluids. We shared childhood memories. We created our own memories. We traveled across the U.S. together as well as most of Mexico. Hell, we lived together in Mexico for several years. Bullfights, cooking, driving, talking and laughing.

The other day it was though we were separated by a locked screen door. We could see each other and hear each other, but could not touch. Could not feel.

I am reminded of one of my favorite movie lines of all time. It comes from Blade Runner just as Rutger Hauer’s character is about to pass away:

“All these moments will be lost in time … like tears…in rain. Time to die.”

I ran into my ex-wife the other day. We talked about the weather.



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